


Summertime Sadness

by Phanwich



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eventual Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Happy Ending, Hearing Voices, Hospitalization, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, M/M, Medication, Mental Institutions, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Violence, antidepressants, psychotic depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phanwich/pseuds/Phanwich
Summary: Phil never meant for it to get so out of hand, but now it's too late to save himself.ORThe one where Phil ends up with depression, severe with psychosis, and everything goes to sh*t.





	1. You Can't Wake Up (This Is Not A Dream)

**Author's Note:**

> *Originally written on August 17th, 2017*
> 
> Hello.  
> I don't recommend you end up in these places- it sucks. If you even think you might be depressed, tell someone. If you're feeling suicidal, please, call your emergency number. Save yourself the trouble. It's going to get better, love.
> 
> *UPDATE! Hey, this story has a soundtrack!*
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nixie2002/playlist/3KA6LJR51KRTjmjXmKxDC9

Phil stepped out into the warm night air, breathing in the London smog. It wasn't healthy in any respects, but to him, it was home. He may have been born in Rawtenstall and grown up in Manchester, but London was where he and Dan had chosen to start their lives together. It was where Dan was- and that made it home more than anything else. Phil swallowed, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry if you get woken up," he whispered aloud, stepping into the unusually deserted street. Most of the streetlamps were out, making the moon the main source of light. It cast eerie shadows over the pavement as Phil sat in the middle of the road.

"Don't trust the moon- she's always changing," he recalled. "Never were there truer words spoken." He hugged his knees to his chest.

"You selfish twat," he said quietly, tears running down his face. "Every year, I can't help but think of you, and how you left me all alone. Do you realise it was a harsh two years before I met the person who would later become my best friend? Maybe it's an insult to your memory, but I think you'd understand that I had to find someone to connect with. I couldn't stay alone, mourning your loss until the day I died as well." He sighed. "Yet here I am, singing a requiem for you, ten years later. An entire decade since you left, and it still hurts. I thought time would stitch the wound, but it almost seems to hurt more. I still remember your birthday- June ninth, 1988. I remember your favourite song- 'Time Of Your Life,' by Green Day. And I still remember the day you died- July second, 2007. You'd be twenty nine this year. You made it through nineteen years of life before the universe decided you weren't worth the trouble. I've made it through thirty, myself, but I think you and I will be reunited soon enough." He closed his eyes as a car approached. "See you soon, my friend." Suddenly, the quiet was interrupted by tyres screeching and a horn honking. Phil opened his eyes to see a woman rolling down her window.

"What the hell are you doing in the middle of the street?" she shouted, sounding genuinely upset. "Are you trying to get killed?" Phil didn't reply, but pulled his legs closer to his body. "Kid, are you on drugs or some shit? Do I need to call 999?" Phil forced himself to stand.

"No, I was just... thinking," he explained after a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Who the hell thinks in the middle of the road at two AM?" she scoffed. "Go home before you get sent back in a body bag." She drove off, and Phil sighed sadly, looking up at the sky.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "London drivers aren't typically so attentive." He turned, entering the flat he shared with Dan and their assorted neighbours, silently slinking up the stairs. He unlocked their front door and stepped inside, closing and relocking it.

"Another near death experience for Philly," Dan's voice called. The light flipped on, revealing the younger boy, sitting on the couch. "However, I get the distinct impression that this one was no accident. How close am I, Phil?"

"Good night, Daniel," Phil sighed, going to leave the lounge. Dan stood, grabbing his wrist. Phil turned, meeting Dan's worried brown eyes.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I care about you too much to let you throw away your life."

"I'm not suicidal," Phil replied listlessly.

"I didn't say you were," Dan said, dropping Phil's hand before stepping back. "Just- just be careful, for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from
> 
> Gasoline  
> Halsey  
> Badlands (Deluxe)  
> 2015


	2. You Are Not A Human Being (You Are Part Of A Machine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to publish. Ugh.

Dan's brown eyes filled with tears as Phil pushed away his untouched meal for the third night in a row.

"Phil, you have to eat," he pleaded. Phil simply shoke his head. "Please?"

"Maybe later," Phil replied. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten a bite in three days," Dan said. "You hardly eat, you sleep all the time, you never go out, you hardly talk to me. You haven't done a liveshow or filmed in two weeks. It isn't you. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were depressed!"

"I'm not depressed," Phil muttered.

"Then tell me what you are!" Dan exclaimed. "You only ever say what you aren't- you aren't hungry, you're not interested, you're not depressed, you're not crazy. What are you?"

"It's just my annual summertime sadness," Phil answered. Even as he said it, though, he knew there was something different this time.

"Phil, I've seen this for eight years, and never have you stayed in bed for two days," Dan whispered. "Your spells last a week or two and you're fine. You surround yourself with people and distract yourself. You cry and sleep and binge watch anime with me, and within a few days your fine. Never have you sat in the street at two AM talking to ghosts. Never have you refused food for three straight days. Never have you turned down an excuse to see our American friends. They're all totally lost. 'Want to come grab a drink?' 'Ah, no, mate- my best friend won't get out of bed and I'm terrified to leave him alone. Maybe next year?' You're not okay!"

"I'm fine," Phil said stubbornly. "I'll be back to normal in no time- promise."

"I hope so," Dan breathed. "I really hope so."


	3. Your Face All Made Up (Living On A Screen)

"No," Phil answered simply. Dan crossed his arms, clearly pissed.

"You've held yourself- and me!- hostage for way too long," he argued. "You're coming to dinner with us."

"I don't want to," Phil replied, his voice resigned. "It's that simple."

"Goddamn it, Phil!" Dan shouted, throwing his hands up. "You're going to come grab dinner with our American friends before they leave tonight! If I have to drag your arse, I will!"

"Then fucking do it!" Phil cried. Dan visibly flinched at the swear- he was pretty sure he could count the amount of times Phil had actually sworn at him on one hand.

"Phil," Dan said, a deadly calm in his words, "you're coming, or I'm calling a doctor. This isn't normal." Phil seemed to contemplate the threat for a moment before standing up from his bed.

"Fine," he agreed, the word spat like venom. "Get out of my room so I can change. Unless you want to check me over for self harm, too," he added with a careful smirk.

"Watch it, Lester," Dan warned, the thought twisting his insides. "I don't think you have, but shit-"

"Get out," Phil repeated forcefully, grabbing a shirt from his closet. Dan couldn't help but notice that Phil grabbed a mostly black shirt- one of Dan's that had likely gotten mixed into his laundry.

Was it a coincidence, or was it something else- something more?

"I said get out!" Phil practically shouted, pulling off his t-shirt and balling up before throwing it at Dan's chest. The ball of fabric caught him of guard, and he stumbled backwards into the wall. Dan quickly exited the room, closing the door and barely resisting the urge to hit his head against it as he fought to ignore the pain not in his physical being, but rather his soul.

It wasn't right, but why?


	4. Low On Self-Esteem (So You Run On Gasoline)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, what's this?! A new chapter for this fic? Has Christmas come early?

"Hey!" Connor greeted, waving Dan and Phil over. "How have you two been?"

"Fine," Dan lied, taking a seat across from him. "What about you?"

"Busy," Connor answered truthfully, shaking his head. "On the bright side, I don't have to document it for 'Note To Self' anymore. It was almost harder writing that journal than it was writing 'A Work In Progress,' you know."

"Really?" Dan asked. "I found both of ours to be simultaneously the most fun and stressful things ever. Phil, sit down," he added, snapping his fingers at the older boy. Phil did as he was told, but remained silent and stoic. "Where's everyone else?"

"Thomas and Joey are on their way," Connor explained. "Tyler's in the bathroom."

"No, I'm not," a voice refuted. "Hey, strangers!" Dan grinned as the platinum blond Americam sat beside him. "Embracing the Hobbit hair, Daniel?"

"Curly Dan is here to stay," Dan agreed.

"You still look the same, Philly," Tyler observed. He smiled. "Ever going to let that ginger hair shine?"

"I've had black hair for over ten years, Tyler- I'm not bloody well about to change it," Phil snapped. Tyler frowned, clearly taken aback.

"No need to get snippy," he muttered, hurt. "Thomas, over here!"

"That was really rude, Phil," Dan whispered. "Behave yourself, please." Phil let out a huff, but didn't say anything more.

"Hi," Thomas said, sitting at the table.

"I'm loving your Sander Sides videos," Connor gushed. "Patton is definitely my favourite." Thomas laughed.

"That's one good things about the YouTube platform," he acknowledged. "There's only so much you can do in six seconds, after all." He turned to the two Brits. "Hey, haven't seen you two since Playlist. Still tall, I see."

"Unfortunately so," Dan sighed. "Where is Jo-"

"Boo," someone whispered in Dan's ear. Dan jumped, and everyone else laughed. Phil forced himself to join in, but there was something forced about it. It was funny, he knew, but the laughter that normally would've burst forth just didn't come. Phil was too busy focusing on the outside perspective, too aware of how they must have looked- four gays and two bisexuals walk into a restaurant.

It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

Phil took in the table.

To Phil's right sat Connor Franta, his brown hair swept to the side and green eyes bright as he as he fiddled with the collar of his button up shirt. Beside Connor sat Thomas Sanders, sporting his usual orange-and-yellow Stephen Universe shirt, black jacket and blue jeans. Joey Graceffa sat beside Thomas, with Tyler to his right, wearing a grey shirt that complimented his dirty blond hair and blue-grey eyes. Tyler Oakley sat at the end between Dan and Joey, wearing a blue jumper and jeans, his eyes bright behind his black glasses. Daniel Howell sat beside Phil, with curly brown hair and a faux-smile permanently glued to his face, wearing a black-and-white button up and ripped black jeans. Then there was Phil.

Phil Lester, wearing one of Dan's black t-shirt and black jeans, his hair in his eyes and his soul melancholy. Phil mentally chastised himself for the over-dramatic narration, but his heart wasn't in it.

"-tried to convince him to fly out and join, but he's too busy working on his new album," Tyler was saying. "Says it has to be as perfect as he can make it. I told him if this second album is half as good as 'Blue Neighbourhood,' it'll be amazing, but he doesn't want to hear it." Phil blinked, trying to figure out the subject of the conversation and eventually gathering it was Troye Sivan.

"Well, it's not like Perth is around the corner," Joey pointed out.

"Neither is America!" cried Thomas.

"Touché," Connor giggled.

"This place is five minutes up the road," Dan laughed. "It's no inconvenience."

"Oh!" Tyler said suddenly, clapping and almost knocking over Connor's water. The brunette yelped, quickly catching it. "Sorry, Connor." He pointed at Dan and Phil excitedly. "Congratulations on moving out of the apartment of death!" The table erupted into applause, and Dan and Phil exchanged looks.

"Oh, right," Dan laughed weakly. "We're both glad to get out of there."

"The endless odyssey of the gas leak got to be too much," Phil offered, breaking his silence.

"It's a good thing neither one of us decided to blunt up a fag in the hallway." Dan's statement was met with blank stares, and he blushed when he noticed Tyler's raised eyebrow and knowing smirk. "Shut up! Cigarette was what I meant- it's a good thing no one decided to smoke!"

"Which neither one of you do," Tyler pointed out, winking. Dan rolled uis eyes.

"No, but we do have enough candles to be marked as a serious fire hazard," he replied lightly, trying to bring the conversation back. "Seriously, we could've just gone up in flames at any moment."

"Dan is on fire!" joked Thomas. Dan groaned as Joey and Tyler both pretended to rim-shot invisible drums.

No one noticed the tears Phil quickly wiped away from his eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't forgotten about this one. I just have a hard time typing it up without my parents seeing. They'd shut down my account so fast if they saw this stuff.  
> (Dan and Phil are kinda banned in our house, but neither my sister nor I listen to this rule, as you can tell.)


	5. I Don't Want To Do This Anymore, It's So Surreal (I Can't Survive If This Is All That's Real)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I wrote this is present tense instead of past. Whoops! Fixed now.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dan asked gently as he and Phil entered their flat later that night. Phil looked up, meeting his eyes for half a second, and that's all it took to break his last shred of resolve. He collapsed onto the floor, crying as Dan kneels beside him and pulls him close. "Hey, it's okay," Dan whispered.

"It's not!" Phil sobbed, burying his face in Dan's shirt. "Absolutely nothing is okay!"

"It's a work in progress," Dan reasoned. "It's all just a work in progress and you're making that progress- that's what matters."

"No," Phil moaned, "it's not!"

"Talk to me," Dan requested. "What's going on?"

"Why do we bother, Daniel?" Phil asked quietly, pulling back. Dan frowned, clearly perplexed. "What's the point?"

"The point of what?" Dan asked, ignoring the gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach.

"The point of living." Phil's answer was so quiet that Dan almost missed it, but it sparked fear in his entire being.

Phil is not allowed to die.

The sentence played like a mantra in Dan's head.

Phil is not allowed to die, because if he goes, Dan will follow close behind.

Dan and Phil are not allowed to be separated.

"Phil," Dan breathed, trying to hide his horror. Phil looked up at him with tears trailing down his cheeks, and Dan's heart broke.

This wasn't his Phil- happy, carefree, optimistic and hopeful.

This was a shell- saddened, depressed and hopeless.

"We all die, so what's the point?" Phil asked, his blue eyes demanding an answer. "What is the point?" he shouted, and the intensity startled Dan. He scrambled for a response.

"You're still here because Jesus or Allah or whoever decided you're worth more alive than dead!" Dan choked out. Phil scoffed, unsatisfied. "Think about all the crazy accidents you've survived, Phil- clearly someone up there likes you and wants you here!"

"There's no one there!" Phil argued. "If there was, this wouldn't be happening! I wouldn't feel like this!"

"Feel like what?" Dan cried. "You don't tell me shit, Phil!"

"Feel like it'd be better if I died!" Phil shouted. Dan stared at him in silence, and Phil realised what he said. "No, I didn't-"

"You're not allowed to- you can't- I-" Dan felt light headed. There wasn't enough air in the room, and he was at a genuine risk of passing out. Having a suspicion and hearing Phil say those words are two very different things.

Now it's confirmed. Phil lied, he lies, and he's looking to die.

If Dan wasn't so horrified, he'd be proud of his little rhyme.

"Fuck!" Phil cried, pulling at his hair. "Shit, I fucked it all up! Why am I still- shit!"

"I can't let you do that!" Dan managed as Phil's words descended into hysteria. He pulled Phil close, holding him tightly as the older boy sobbed and fought against his grip.

"Let go of me!" Phil wailed, trying to pull free. Dan wass at an advantage, though- he was taller, stronger, and in a more rational headspace.

"No," he whispered. "I love you too much to let you go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from
> 
> High By The Beach  
> Lana Del Rey  
> Honeymoon  
> 2015


	6. The Torment Of Existence Versus The Horror Of Non-Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals pretty heavily with suicide and psychosis. I recommend caution if you could be triggered.

"Come down, please," Dan begged Phil, stepping closer to his friend. "Phil, please, back away from the edge. I'm begging you."

"Why." Phil said it like a statement, not a question, and he drew in a shaky breath as he turned. His blue eyes were crazed, a kind of ferocity that Dan had never seen making his features appear hollow. "Why," Phil repeated, laughing humourlessly, "should I put more effort into this any longer than I already have?" He hopped off the ledge, pacing around the roof like a caged animal before suddenly grabbing Dan's shoulders. "Answer me!"

"Think long and hard about what you're planning!" Dan gasped out, prying Phil's hands from his body. "Weigh the torment of existence against the horror of non-being, Philip- you don't get a second chance!"

"Don't we though?" Phil cried, rushing towards the edge. "This is it, Daniel!"

"Wait!" Dan shouted. Phil turned, sitting on the edge of the roof. He leaned precariously over the ledge, giggling like a child- like one wrong move wouldn't lead to his immediate death.

How immediate is "immediate," though? Surely that instant would feel like agony as his bones shatter and his lungs collapse and there's no oxygen and his heart is no longer told to beat and his brain dies.

"Phil," Dan breathed, stepping closer. "Please."

"Come any closer and I'll do it right now," Phil threatened, leaning back further. "I have nothing to lose."

 _Aside from your life_ , Dan thought, stepping back.  _Other then that, you are correct._

"I have something to ask," he said aloud. "So, come here."

"No," Phil replied. "You can talk from there."

"If... if you're sure this us how you want to- sure you want this..." Dan said slowly.

"I am," Phil replied.

"Then do one thing for me," Dan requested. Phil frowned, clearly confused. Good- confused was good; that's what Dan wanted. "Kiss me hard before you go. One last- to hold on-" His voice broke, and he looked away, tears streaming down his face. When he looked back up, Phil had an odd expression on his face. Dan couldn't read it- was it one of love or hate, regret or longing, disdain or contempt?

"A kiss," he said finally, his voice  detatched. Dan nodded, his face burning. "We've never done that, but you said 'one last.' Why?"

"Honest mistake," Dan replied.

"Must've been," Phil murmured. He looked down, his hands moving as if writing out words.

"Please," Dan begged. "Don't take your life away from me."

"I haven't got a choice," Phil breathed.

"Then surely you can spare a moment for me," Dan pleaded.

"Yes," Phil mumbled, his expression dreamy and unfocused. Dan saw his opportunity and seized it.

He lunged for Phil, grabbing his shirt and yanking him back into the roof, off the ledge and away from danger. Phil screamed, the sound inhuman, as Dan twisted and pinned Phil beneath him.

Nails raked against skin. Bones connected with concrete. Words of hatred and anger filled the air.

"Get the hell off me!" Phil screeched, bringing his head forward. Dan leaned back just enough that Phil's head missed contact with his nose, the older boy's thick hair tickling his face.

"No!" Dan shouted, tightening his grip on Phil's wrists. Phil tried to kick Dan off, but the position he was in kept him from lifting his legs more than a few centimetres off the ground.

"I hate you!" Phil wailed, throwing his head back. There was a sickening  _crack!_ as Phil's head connected with the roof, and his blue eyes dulled just slightly. "I won't forgive you for this," he continued, his words slurring the smallest bit. Again.  _Crack!_ "I should've fucking known you'd have your own interests at heart!"

"I am protecting you!" Dan cried. "I can't let you do this- I've invested so much time into you, into  _us_ , that I can't sit back and watch you destroy not only your own life, but mine as well. Because like it or not, Phil, it's not just you- it was never just you! It's been Dan and Phil for so many years, never Daniel Howell and Philip Lester, but always Dan  _and_ Phil!"

"You lived eighteen years without me!" Phil laughed, but it turned into a snarl when Dan forced him onto his stomach and carded a hand through his hair, keeping him from hitting his head. "You didn't even know I existed for seventeen of them!"

"But I do now," Dan spat, "and now is what counts. Not then. You were and are the greatest thing to ever happen to me and maybe it's selfish but I can't fucking let you jump off this building and end your life and destroy mine and traumatise a hundred million people because you are so much more than whatever is happening with you."

"Weak will and goddamn loyalty to tradition," Phil mumbled.

"What?" Dan demanded.

"That what I have," Phil answered. "They told me- and they were right."

"Who told you that?" Dan questioned.

"The..." Phil drew in a ragged breath, and Dan realised he was losing consciousness. "The voices. They warned- warned me. About you. It was always you."

"What?" Dan asked.

"I won't-" Phil gasped out. "I can't- I will never forgive you for this."

"Phil, no- don't you dare," Dan began. "Stay with me- you can't-" Phil fell limp, though, and Dan screamed in frustration, cradling Phil's body in a protective manner. The wind ripped the howl away from his throat, scattering it across the city, carrying it across the country, into the ocean and to the mountains.

"Why?" Dan whispered. "Why couldn't you just admit you weren't okay?" He brushed Phil's dark hair from his face, noting how peaceful the older boy looks in sleep. Where his mind had been racing only moments before, he was silent. Zero to a hundred and back again in two seconds, in typical Phil fashion. Dan took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

He was safe, he was alive.

But Dan couldn't keep him this way.

"Why couldn't you admit you weren't alright?" Dan asked, his voice getting louder as hysteria threatened to take over. "I begged you to tell me what was wrong and you wouldn't- not because you couldn't, but rather because you refused to sacrifice your pride. You held on to it and it almost  _killed_ you!" Dan let out a sob. "I don't think you understand what you've done! You made your choices, Phil, and now I have no other option but to make the hardest one of my life. I can't keep you safe anymore. You'll wake up, more crazed than when you went to sleep, and you won't let this happen again. You'll take the first chance I give you and use it; you won't let me near you again. You're too smart to repeat the same 'mistake' twice." He drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, and I really do hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me for what I'm about to do." He reached into his back pocket, dialing a blessedly simple number.

"999, what's your emergency?" a woman's pleasant voice asked. Dan bit his lip, summoning all the courage he needed.

"I need either the police or paramedics," he explained. "Whichever can best deal with a man in the midst of psychosis."

"Are you in immediate danger?"

"He's currently subdued, but I get the feeling he'll be  _very_ upset when he wakes."


	7. I'm Not Crazy- I Swear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not Friday, but oh well. I missed an update anyway when I was grounded for a while, so consider this a make up. ^-^

Phil opened his eyes slowly, acutely aware of the pain in his head. It was a dull ache, throbbing with every beat of his heart. He groaned, letting his eyes shut against the harsh light.

And then the pieces clicked back together.

Phil shouted, sitting up- or rather, he would have sat up, if it weren't for the cloth bands around his wrists, ankles and midsection, keeping him down.

"Dan!" Phil shouted, panic seeping into his voice.

_What's happening what's happening? Oh, God! Where am I? Why am I here- no, focus on the where, Phil. Fuck, what's going on?_

"This isn't funny!" he cried, looking around the empty room. "Let me out!"

 _You already know he's not here_ , a voice replied. Phil whimpered.

"He is," he argued quietly. "He has to be somewhere. When I find him, I'm going-"

 _Don't you dare finish that sentence_ , the voice commanded harshly.  _You know exactly where you are._

"I don't!" Phil denied. "I've never been here in my life!"

_You know where you are- you just don't want to think about it. Take in your surroundings and ask yourself who you're talking to._

"You lied," Phil said quietly, noticing the camera in the corner, recording his every move, and the mirror covering the entirity of the wall to his left. "You said I wouldn't end up in a fucking mental hospital! You promised!"

_Promises are made to be broken. This isn't even the mental hospital, Lester. This is the psych ward of the local hospital._

"You can't do this," Phil breathed, panic creeping up in his voice. "You can't do this to me!"

 _All you had to do was jump! That's_ all  _you had to do! I warned you against him, but you_ had _to give in to your emotional, sentimental side. You're weak, Philip. Loyal to tradition. That was your downfall. He took advantage of it. You don't deserve to die. You deserve the pain. You know you do._

"I'm not crazy," Phil told himself, focusing on the details of the room. They were starting to blur together, the edges becoming fuzzy. He laughed, pulling against the restraints in a vain effort to break free. "I'm not crazy! I am not. I'm not insane, not mad. I am fine. All is well." His lips pulled up in a manic grin as he laughed harder, the sound bordering on hysterical. "I'm not mad, not crazy, not insane or dangerous! I am fine! Do you hear me? I _am sane!_ "

The more Phil repeated the words, the less sense they made to him, though.


	8. Okay, Maybe I Am Crazy (That Was Sort Of A Mental Typo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wound up getting sick last night. Woke up still sick. Hopefully I'll finish this work today?

I can't handle this," Dan whispered, watching Phil through the glass. "It's been three hours and he's still going on about the same thing."

"It's hard, I'm sure," a doctor agreed sympathetically. "However, you are the only one familiar with Lester's case and normal behaviour, and as such, we need you here."

"You don't understand what it's like to see him like this!" Dan shouted, tearing his gaze away from his friend. "The anger that he's expressing- it's all because of me! He was absolutely insane on that rooftop; I couldn't reach him, not really. This is worse! Now he understands, he knows what's going to happen. He's not stupid, Doctor- he  _knows_!"

"With all due respect, Mister Howell," the woman replies curtly, "your friend's psychosis is quite deep-rooted. He's hearing voices and talking to them, he's suicidal... I wouldn't be surprised if he's also seeing things. I know it's hard, but I hope you do understand it's for the best."

"Doctor Frapp?" a nurse called. The woman turned to face him. "You might want to hear this."

"I am no longer bound by the mind of man." Dan's heart sunk as he turned back to the glass, realising the words eye going from Phil. He was no longer thrashing and loud, but rather almost silent, his words carefully measured in a way they had never been before. "I am dangerous. I am crazy. I am no longer sane, but I am not afraid. The one who put me here will die." He turned, his dull blue eyes meeting Dan's brown ones, as if he could see him through the glass. "You hear that, Daniel? You will die. You can't hide forever."

"No," Dan moaned, raking a hand through his hair. His fingers snagged on his brown curls, but he didn't care, opting to rip them through. "No!" he shouted, sinking onto the floor.

"Mister Howell, we need you to calm down," the male nurse said gently. "Please, take a few deep breaths and try to calm yourself. You're safe, I promise."

"That's not-" Dan choked out, his voice breaking. "I don't- Phil-  _no!_ " he repeated firmly.

"If you don't calm down, I hope you understand that you will have to leave," Doctor Frapp said. Dan whimpered, but nodded as he bit his lip and tried to pull himself together.

 _It's momentary_ , he tells himself.  _Better for you to be here and find out exactly what's going on then go crazier than a shithouse rat waiting for news._

Right?


	9. I Won't Give Up Without A Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctors decide what to do with Phil.

"We'll have to hospitalise him, at least for a little while."

"Are you sure that's necessary? It's a lot of paperwork, not to mention costly."

"We haven't got another choice."

"Well, how do you propose we transport Lester to the facility?"

"We can't- not yet."

"Well, we can't keep him here! By 21:00 we need to make a choice. Either we send him home with Howell or we send him to a psychiatric care facility."

"We cannot- under any circumstances!- send him home with Howell. Not until a psychiatrist deems it safe, at least."

"Then we send him to Central."

"I wouldn't send my worst enemy to Central."

"Good thing he's not your worst enemy, then. Shall I call?"

"Yes, of course."


	10. Words, Words, Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan finds Phil's journal.

Dan sighed as he packed a bag of clothes for Phil. He understood why they'd chosen to commit him, of course, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

There was no telling how long they'd keep him, and Dan being alone was never a good thing.

Dan frowned as his eyes caught a teal coloured notebook stashed beneath Phil's socks. He pulled it out, opening it. It wasn't an invasion of privacy- nothing was ever off limits between them, with the exception of browsing history. Dan skimmed over the first page, gasping as he read the words.

 _May 17, 2017_ , the page was dated.  _I woke with tears on my face and dread in my stomach. I fear my summertime sadness may be setting in early this year, but remind myself it's momentary in the grand scheme of life. The dark moods will lift and life will be grand once more. I remind myself of everything and everyone I have to live for. It's a good life, really, and I wouldn't trade it for the world._

 _May 28th, 2017_ , the next page read. _Yes, it is officially summer. I feel it everywhere. I'm so tired all the time, and cry for no apparent reason. I'll give myself a few more weeks; hopefully it'll all be fine by then and I'll be back to normal- whatever that is!_

Dan swallowed, sitting on Phil's bed as he hungrily poured over the words.

_June 3rd, 2017. There's something wrong with me. I'm not sure what, but it's there. Dan hasn't noticed yet, but he will soon- I'm sure of it. I've probably got about two days- maximum-  to figure out what's wrong and fix it._

_June 9th, 2017. Today's his birthday. He'd be twenty nine. I thought that, maybe, the pain of losing my best friend to a drunk driver would dissipate, but it hurts just as badly- if not more- ten years later. I lost one friend. I can't afford to lose another; that's why I protect Daniel with every fibre of my being. Lately, I've been thinking that I should have been the one walking closest to the street. We all know how notoriously bad Manchester drivers are (stupid university students don't pay attention to anything!), but still we chose to let him walk on the outside, by the street. I regret that, even now, a decade later._

_June 11th, 2017. Today is Daniel's birthday. I haven't spoken a word to him yet. I should, but I can't. I posted on Twitter, made a joke of it. Dan took the bait, thankfully, and believes I've been in my room all day playing with the fidget spinner I got him. I would much rather him think I'm rude and inconsiderate than know the truth, the truth being that I've been alternating between crying, watching our old video collaborations, researching suicide methods, reading over our old Twitter conversations, and scratching the crap out of my legs with my house key. Our subscribers say we almost certainly dated in 2009/2010, and looking at it now, I see why. The way Daniel looks at me screams impurity, but I'd never really noticed. Is it possible that the boy I rescued- and subsequently rescued me- actually "liked" me in that way?_

"I did," Dan whispered aloud, "but it became quite obvious you didn't return that sentiment."

 _June 20th, 2017_ , the next entry read.  _I'm losing my mind- I'm sure of it. The dreams I have are troubling at best, was are the things I think. Dan frequently asks if I'm okay, and I tell him I am. How could I tell him the truth? How could I possibly tell him that for the past month I've been hearing things, thinking things, dreaming things I cannot bear to repeat?_

_July 2nd, 2017. Ten years, exactly. I think tonight is the night. I can't stand to put up with this torment any longer. I hate it so much and it is tearing me apart._

_July 10th, 2017. Daniel's beginning to get suspicious. He must have seen my half hearted attempt on the second, because when I came in- wholy alive physically, but torn apart mentally and destroyed emotionally- he seemed to know exactly what I'd done. He's noticing the changes in my habits, the changes in my personality. Maybe that should frighten me, but nothing scares me anymore._

_July 14th, 2017. The Americans are gone now. Last night, Dan forced me to join everyone for dinner. It was alright, I suppose. It could have gone worse, but I couldn't relax. It was as if there were an invisible gun to my head. "Act exactly right, Philip," a voice hissed in my ear. It wasn't a voice I recognised- certainly not my own. "You mustn't let them know of how you're really feeling." So I remained silent, terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing. "Everyone needs to believe you're perfectly fine, or else your plans may be ruined." Plans? I didn't have any plans, at least, not that I knew of. However, there was something about this voice that compelled me to listen to it. I'm not sure how to describe it, exactly, but it was manipulative in nature, I guess. It didn't matter in the end- upon returning home, I broke down and told Dan I wanted to die. He was shocked. Horrified, even. He watches me closely, determined to keep me alive, but that little voice that started in the back of my head is getting louder, growing stronger. "One of these days..."_

_July 19th, 2017._ Dan let out a long sigh- this entry was dated for that day, meaning Phil musy have written it before his psychosis really took hold. His normally neat and careful handwriting was messy and almost illegible, resembling Dan's more than his own. Dan frowned, slowly deciphering the scrawled writing.

_July 19th, 2017. It's time. On this day, July 19th, 2017, at approximately 13:15, I, Philip Michael Lester, being of (un)sound mind and body, will kill myself, thus ending three decades of misery and torment. There will be no last words, no note, no loose ends. The only evidence is this notebook. Daniel is currently cleaning in the kitchen, under the impression I'm avoiding the cleaners, and by the time he thinks to check on me I shall be long gone- either sprawled out on the pavement or in the morgue. I would say that it's been a good life, that it was fun while it lasted, but that's just not the truth and I (usually) do not condone dishonesty. It's been hard, rough- even downright bad- but that's  just life, isn't it? Life is messy and intolerable, mostly bad with a couple good times sprinkled in to trick you into staying. It's the luck of the draw, isn't it?_

Dan flipped the page.

 _See you on the other side, or not at all_ , Phil had scribbled, a tiny smiley face accompanying the words.  _Love, Phil._

Dan flipped back to the beginning, comparing Phil's first words in May to his last in July.

 _It's a good life, really, and I wouldn't trade it for the world_ had, in just two short months, become  _Life is messy and intolerable, mostly bad with a few good times sprinkled in to trick you into staying._

"Oh, Phil," Dan whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "What have we become?"


	11. Visit The Past, Live In The Present, Look For The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan comes to visit Phil for the first time.  
> Phil isn't having any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to go into a whole lot of detail with admission and therapy and all that (just in case), because truly, in my eyes, few things are as traumatic as the realisation you're sick enough that you can't stay with the general population. I didn't wish to risk my own health at the time by putting myself back there, since this was a mere three months after.  
> (I have a different fic, to be posted later, which will go into _serious_ detail relating to my experiences within the hospitals. Keep an eye out for that if you're curious.)
> 
> This takes place three weeks after the last chapter.

Phil stared blankly at his psychiatrist, unsure of what he'd heard.

"Can you repeat that?" he asked, pushing his glasses up and leaning forward.

"Of course," Doctor Smith agreed. "If we were to discharge you within the next two or three days, do you think you could keep yourself and others safe?"

"I think I could," Phil answered slowly, unwilling to latch on to the potentially false hope brewing in his heart. "I mean, I've learned a lot about psychotic depression over the past, what, three weeks?"

"You're officially logged as having been admitted July 19th, 2017 at 18:27," Doctor Smith read, "and it is now August 9th. Three weeks, yes."

"In all honesty, I think I could keep from killing or harming the people I know and respect and love," Phil continued. "I am not a violent person, Doctor. I don't like to hurt people, and I certainly don't wish to kill them."

"I believe it, Phil," Doctor Smith told him, smiling warmly at her patient. "I've been working with you for almost a month and I see an incredibly kind heart, brave soul and keen mind within you. You're a good person, Phil- you just have a little bit of illness that we've almost got out of you."

"Thank you," Phil said quietly. "That means a lot to me."

"I have one final question," Doctor Smith told him. "Do you think you've forgiven Daniel Howell for the measures he took to keep you safe?" Phil was silent, frowning. "When I say forgive, I do not mean 'agree with.' You don't have to like what happened- you're entitled to your feelings- but have you, or can you, forgive him and understand that what happened was out of concern for your well being rather than out of malice?"

"I think I have," Phil said slowly. "I do not respect Daniel's choice in the least, but I don't hate him. I'm not as angry about it as I was when it happened. I'm not entirely sure I can trust him, but I'm sure that feeling is mutual."

"Thank you for your honesty, Phil," Doctor Smith replied, jotting down Phil's answers. "Alright, you know the drill."

"No suicidal thoughts, no homicidal thoughts, no genocidal thoughts, no desire to self-harm, no hearing or seeing things and no paranoia," Phil rattled off. Doctor Smith quickly marked his answers.

"Genocidal thoughts?" she asked. "That's a new one."

"It's mundane saying the same things over and over again every day," Phil explained. "I had to spice it up a bit."

"Well, that's all," the doctor told him. "You may go. Please send in Marie."

"Thanks," Phil replied, exiting the room. "Marie, you're needed." A young woman with blonde hair and green eyes stood without a word and entered the room without so much as glancing at Phil as he sat at a table.

"Philip Lester?" a nurse called. Phil looked up. 

"Yes?" he asked.

"You have a visitor," the nurse explained. Phil frowned- he hadn't had a visitor or even a phone call in his whole stay.

"Who?" he asked, pulling on his sneakers. They sat loosely on his feet without the laces, but hey, at least he couldn't randomly decide to hang himself or strangle someone.

"A Daniel Howell," the nurse answered, unlocking the door of the unit and motioning for Phil to follow. Phil wrung his hands together as he followed to man through the hallways and locked doors. They reached the visitation area, and Phil noticed Dan pacing in the corner the second he entered. He stopped the second he saw Phil, though, and the two men silently observed each other. "I'm going back," the nurse told them. "There's a help button if you need it. When you're ready to leave just press it; the door is locked." He left, and the click of the door sounded like a gunshot in the cold silence of the room.

"You look better than I'd expected," Dan said after a moment. Phil remained silent- what had Dan expected? For Phil to be skin and bones, with hollow eyes and a straitjacket on?

"Thanks," he finally replied, the words icy. "You don't look too awful yourself."

"Phil-" Dan began, but Phil cut him off in anger.

"Three weeks!" he shouted, his words ringing through the air. "Twenty one incredibly long days. I've been here for three weeks without so much as a _word_ from you! You didn't call, didn't visit, didn't write, and now all of a sudden you show up? Who the hell do you think you are, _Jesus_?"

"I-I wanted to, honest!" Dan stammered. "The doctors wouldn't let me, though- they didn't want me to undermine your progress and upset you!"

" _Progress_ ," Phil repeated, spitting the word like poison. "Is that what we're calling it? Lying to people and handing them over to a team of equally psychotic doctors, locking them up in solitary confinement for three straight days before loading them up in drugs- _those_ are the things that inspire 'progress' as you put it?"

"I never wanted to hurt you, Phil," Dan begged. "I never would have agreed to bring you here if I thought there was even the slightest possibility I could keep you safe without outside help."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want your help?" Phil asked, his hands clenching into fists around the hem of his shirt. "I'd have been just fine without your intervention!"

"You would be  _dead_ if it wasn't for me!" Dan shouted. The words hung in the air for a long moment, and finally Dan sighed. " _Dan is frequently asking if I'm okay,_ " he quoted, his tone void. A strangled squeak escaped Phil's lips as he recognised the words. " _I tell him I am. How can I tell him I've been hearing, thinking and dreaming things I can't bear to repeat?_ " He sighed. "Phil, you were absolutely not okay."

"You read my journal," Phil choked out, his words tight.

"I did," Dan acknowledged. Phil took a threatening step closer, his jaw set. "Careful, Phil- there's a camera in thw corner behind you."

"You had  _no_ right!" Phil screeched. "Who gave you permission to look through my things? You have no right to my intermost thoughts, Daniel Howell! You have no right to my mind, my heart and my soul!" He blinked back hot tears, unwilling to cry in front of the traitor in front of him. "You don't get to know what I told myself. You don't get to know what I said,  _ever._ You don't get to read into my very soul with only half the story!  _You have no right._ " He emphasised the last four words with rough jabs at Dan's sternum. Dan pushed him away, his muscles tightening. "God, I'll kill you!" Phil shouted, barely resisting the urge to tear Dan apart.

"Do you realise you got  _yourself_ in this mess?" Dan asked. "By refusing to sacrifice your pride, you let yourself be dragged into a hopeless pit, and even _now_ \- after three weeks in a fucking mental hospital, after three _months_ of gut-wrenching depression and suicidal ideation!- you won't let go. Your arrogance, Phil Lester, is what almost killed you, and one day, it really will be your end. You need to learn that you're not always right. You're as flawed as anyone else and ignoring those flaws does not make them non-existent!"

"I have issues, yes," Phil snapped. "Look at where we are, for fuck's sake! I lie, cheat, hide, sugar coat, manipulate, lose my temper, and anything else you can think of, but at least I can recognise that it's human nature to practice selfish deeds such as those. Lose your God complex, Dan- you're not as blameless as you like to think."

"You know what?" Dan spat. "I don't have to deal with your idiotic little power play. Unlike you, I can just get up and leave."

"Low blow, you arse," Phil growled, rolling his eyes. "Leave then. Don't bother coming back."

"Fine," Dan agreed. "Have fun rotting away like the prisoner you are, Philly. You really are crazy, you know." He pressed the button, and the nurse opened the door a moment later.

"Daniel?" Phil called as the nurse led Dan towards the doors, his tone sickly sweet. "You don't know how right you are. I'll get out and heaven can't help you then." He bared his teeth like a dog preparing to attack. "I can hold a grudge a very long time."

"Yeah, whatever," Dan sighed. "You don't scare me. I'll beat your arse in a millisecond."

"What was that about?" the nurse asked as a technician led Phil back to the unit.

"Just some Mario Kart. Beat him too many times. Says he's going to avenge himself. I'll beat him again- always do."

"Didn't sound like friendly banter..."

"It's our style."

Phil laughed softly as he reentered the unit.

"You are not forgiven, Daniel," he murmured. "I have not forgiven, and I have not forgotten."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way it works with the doctors (at least in northeast Texas) is they ask you the following during each daily session.
> 
> 1\. How are you feeling?  
> 2\. Any suicidal thoughts?  
> 3\. Any homicidal thoughts or desire to hurt others?  
> 4\. Any paranoia?  
> 5\. Any seeing or hearing things?  
> 6\. Any desire to self harm?
> 
> When they look at discharging you, they'll ask if you feel healthy enough to keep yourself and others safe.
> 
> Visitation rights depend on the hospital. In state, you were allowed to be unsupervised with the person (as long as they were related to you) and talk as long as you wished. In my local hospital, you got fifteen minutes in the cafeteria with everyone else and a couple techs watching. The patient is allowed to reject someone's visitation request, and no one has to come see them.


	12. Conversation's Getting Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More doctor conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of the six pages I have left to type, two and a half of them are for this chapter because my handwriting was super crappy in August.
> 
> Oh yeah- six pages left. ^-^
> 
> I CANNOT WAIT TO BE DONE WITH THIS WORK AND THROW IT THE F*CK AWAY.  
> YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I HATE IT.  
> INFINITELY. THAT'S YOUR ANSWER.   
> But obligation is a bitch and I have to finish it and we're almost done so I'll shut up and try really hard to complete it today.

"That could have gone worse."

"Too bad we don't have audio."

"From the looks of it, though, Lester managed to keep calm around Howell, for the most part."

"Aren't they supposed to be best friends?"

"Have you  _read_ Lester's file?"

"Not yet, no."

"Here it is. Philip Michael Lester, age thirty, admitted July 19th at 18:27 for suicidal ideation, homicidal ideation, and major depressive disorder- severe with psychosis, single episode."

"Got a couple things on that list, huh?"

"A few, but everyone who knows him says he's a kind and caring person- sociable and optimistic. According to Howell, he lost his best friend to a drunk driver in 2007 and struggles with survivor's guilt around the time of his death- early July."

"I see."

"Howell said Lester had been acting strange for a number of weeks- increased irritability, refusing food, social withdrawl, sleeping more, et cetera- and on July second, slipped out of their shared flat at two AM. Sat in the middle of the street and spoke to someone who wasn't there. After a car nearly hit him, he came back in, but Howell describes his attitude as 'listless and somber.'"

"Continue."

"A number of days later, the pair went to dinner with a few friends visiting from the United States. Howell says he noticed nothing odd, but when they got back home, Lester broke down and finally admitted to wanting to die.

"Goodness."

"It gets worse, Palmer. On the nineteenth, Lester finally took matters into his own hands- climbed to the top of the building and aimed to jump. The details are fuzzy on what exactly happened- Howell can't remember, but he called 999 after Lester lost consciousness. Paramedics escorted him to the nearest hospital for evaluation."

"As is the custom."

"Doctors said he was disoriented for a brief amount of time, but quickly realised exactly what had happened. He began to laugh uncontrollably and insist he was neither mad nor dangerous. According to the report, he repeated these words for several hours before threatening to kill Howell."

"That's... not the mark of a healthy relationship."

"Eventually, the staff recommended a psychiatric care facility and Howell agreed. Lester is recorded as having been admitted on the nineteenth, but was placed in seclusion for three days due to the severity of his psychosis."

"Seclusion, I understand, but three  _days_? That's an enternity for someone like that. It's a wonder he didn't go entirely of the edge, Montera!"

"He was completely out of control when he got here, Palmer. We had to have Howell do his intake. Within seconds of arrival it was evident he could not be placed with the other patients until he calmed down. He may not look it, but Lester is quite strong. It took four people to restrain him, twenty minutes to get him into the seclusion room, and and five more to actually shut and lock the door. Kept sliding his hands and feet between the door and the frame to keep it from closing. Anyway, he's shown remarkable progress since his arrival; Doctor Smith wants to release him within the next two days."

"That's why we had Howell come."

"Yes. Seeing as the pair live together, it was vital to observe their reactions to each other as we can't let Lester got home until we're certain he won't try to harm Howell or himself."

"Then do we deem this a positive meeting?"

"For the sake of optimism, I would say so. While both appeared to be upset with each other, it didn't get violent and no threats were reported from either party."

"I'll say neutral."

"Don't you have opinions?"

"I'm Switzerland, Montera. I take no sides."


	13. The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Freedom! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate my Annie reference.
> 
> This chapter is super short because I'm lazy and it's written that way.
> 
> But the next one is longer and the epilogue is a thing.
> 
> So yeah.

Phil bounced up and down on his toes as he signed his treatment plan with a flourish. 

"That's it?" he asked hopefully, adjusting his glasses. The nurse looked over the paper.

"The doctor wants to meet with you once more, and then you're free to go," she confirmed, placing the paper in a filing cabinet.

"Hey, Lester!" someone shouted. "You leaving us?" Phil turned, a smile on his face.

"I am!" he answered cheerfully, bowing dramatically as the unit applauded. Phil had seen many people come and go over the course of his stay- so many times he'd been the one applauding- and they had always seemed so thrilled to leave. Their reactions didn't sum up half the elation Phil was feeling, though. Phil sat on one of the many plastic chairs, basking in the warm glow of excitement and triumph. 

After months of bone-crushing self hatred and sadness, after weeks of medications and therapy, he was finally back to himself- or at least well on his way- and he was finally going home.

***

[Bonus scene I just decided to add because author powers]

Phil adjusted his grip on his bag, letting the nurse speak with a tech for a moment. He grinned as he looked out the glass door, the sunlight illuminating the trees outside in radiant orange and yellow.

Phil had never been one to appreciate the beauty of nature- being so pale, he got sunburned if he went out- but now that it had been taken away, he made a note to go outside and enjoy it at least a few times a week.

"You ready?" the nurse asked. Phil nodded.

"Heck yes," he answered. "I've  _been_ ready!"

"Keep yourself safe, Phil," the nurse advised. "If you ever feel like that again, you tell someone, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," Phil replied, looking down sheepishly.

"You make things right with your friend, too," she instructed. "You hurt him badly."

"I know I did," Phil whispered, biting his lip. "And I'm going to make it up to him."

"You do that," the nurse said. She unlocked the door, letting Phil step out.

Fresh air. Warm sunlight. A cool, crisp breeze.

All the little things Phil had not truly appreciated until they were taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had to add that ending scene because LEAVING A MENTAL HOSPITAL IS THE BEST FLIPPING FEELING EVER.
> 
> That's all.


	14. The Problems Of Your Past Are Your Business (The Problems Of Your Future Are My Privilege)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation and yeah.
> 
> I give up. I'm so done by this point. I don't care anymore. You're lucky this fic was already written or it would have been abandoned ages ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugggggggggggh
> 
> *to myself and also to you but mostly to myself*  
> We're almost done we're almost done we're almost done I promise we're almost done.
> 
> ohhhhh myyyy gooood.

Phil wasn't surprised Dan didn't come pick him up.

He wouldn't have picked himself up, either.

The cab ride was uneventful. Silent, or as silent as a cab in London can be.

It didn't phase him. Phil was too stuck in his own head, mapping out what to say to Dan.

All too soon, though, he was outside the flat, walking up the stairs, outside the door.

And he pushed it open.

"Welcome home, you bitch." Dan's voice was flat and emotionless, and he hardly even looked at Phil. "Well, we both know how this is going to end, so let's get on with it." Phil took a deep breath and set down his bag.

Dan had certainly looked better in his life. His hands were trembling, he had dark circles beneath dull eyes, his brown hair tangled and sticking up from where he ran his hands through it. 

"Go to bed, Daniel," Phil said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Dan replied, glaring at the floor. Phil pushed up his glasses.

"You're obviously tired," he pointed out. "I really don't want to have this conversation right this second; it can wait until you're... better rested."

"You'll just kill me then," Dan said, laughing humourlessly. "No." He looked at Phil, finally meeting his eyes. "If you're going to do it, it's going to happen on my terms. You're going to fight, Philip- you don't get to cower away and then take a cheap stab later on. Fuck that i- no, you know what? Fuck _you_."

Phil sighed tiredly.

"Dan, I'm not going to hurt you," he finally said. Dan remained silent, clearly questioning the sincerity of Phil's words. "I'm not here to hurt you, or to kill you. I know what I said, and I am so sorry, but it wasn't the truth."

"Do you know what I saw, Phil?" Dan asked, sitting on the couch. Phil shook his head. "I want you to imagine. No, actually, I'm going to tell you.

"I saw a slow death. I watched my best friend lose his mind. I saw him on the brink of madness. I watched him become a ghost, nothing more than a hollow shell of himself. I watched the one person I loved more than anything else as he became ill to the point of near death. I watched you almost die. I watched as you fell victim to something bigger than yourself, bigger than me. I saw you on the brink of madness! I almost lost you and I couldn't do anything!" Dan shouted, his brown eyes watering. "You almost killed yourself and I couldn't do anything to keep you safe, to keep you from chasing that wild dark urge that compelled you enough that you almost lept off a fucking building! Do you know how much that hurt? I love you too much for that!"

"I'm sorry," Phil whispered, his voice catching. "I'm sorry!"

"I can't lose you," Dan said, burying his face beneath his arms as he leaned on the sofa arm. "I just can't." Phil slowly moved towards Dan, sitting beside him and gently rubbing between his shoulder blades.

"I love you too, Daniel," Phil murmured, sighing sadly. "I'm sorry. I hurt you. I hurt you badly, and I'm sorry. I can't- I don't know what else to say other than that."

"It wasn't you," Dan said, looking up. "It just wasn't. It was your voice and your body, but not you. Not your words. Not your thoughts. A demon possessing your body. That's the only way I can think to describe it."

"I'm... doing better now," Phil said cautiously. "I promise."

"I know you are," Dan replied, leaning on Phil's shoulder tiredly. "I didn't report what you said. You know why?"

"Why?" Phil asked.

"Because I knew that home was a better place for you than there," Dan answered quietly. "You got better, and I saw it, but I knew that here was best. I don't know." He scoffed. "I was probably being stupid, but I had a feeling. A gut feeling, I guess, and it could have gotten me killed, but somehow I knew you wouldn't."

"I couldn't, even if I did want to," Phil assured him. "Killing you would be killing a piece of me."

"And vice versa," Dan returned. He gently pressed his lips against Phil's temple before whispering in his ear. "Welcome home, you dildo." He stood and walked away, leaving Phil confused on the couch.

"Did you just-" Phil began, but Dan interrupted him from his bedroom.

"Yup," he confirmed. "Fucking deal with it, Philly." Phil rolled his eyes, but he smiled anyway. "I'm not asking you out, but losing you like that has given me a new appreciation for what you do. No homo, of course. By which I mean take it however you like."

"Shut up," Phil laughed, pushing his glasses up. "Does that mean you're mine now?"

"I don't belong to anyone!" Dan shouted back. "Stay around a few more months and we'll see about that, okay?"

"God, I've missed you," Phil sighed happily, kicking his shoes off.

"I've missed you too," Dan replied, poking his head back into the lounge, "and you have no idea how badly.

"You're my missing puzzle piece, Phil Lester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want immediate death and /not/ in a good way.
> 
> But there's only one more part and then I forget this ever existed, right?


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE DONE!
> 
> I REPEAT WE ARE DONE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear me sobbing with relief I completed another work in progress oh dear lord

_Three months later_

_•-•-•-•_

Dan smiles as Phil chats with his audience.

There's a difference in him now. Dan can see it from a mile away.

Phil laughs softly, picking up a small plant and hiding behind it before setting it back down and continuing his small ramble.

It's been three months since Phil left the hospital, but upon his return he's been thoroughly embraced. No one asked many questions, just happy to have him back. When the subject does come up, Phil easily glosses over it and changes the subject.

"Dan, come here!" Phil calls. Dan stands up and joins Phil on the couch.

"Hello, everyone," he greets. "Typical Sunday night, isn't it?" He exchanges a small smile with Phil, who squeezes his hand gently beneath the camera's view.

It's not perfect. It will never be perfect. Life is messy; partly good and partly bad, as Phil had so eloquently stated so long ago.

It's also, as Dan had told him, a work in progress, and they're slowly but surely making that progress.

That's what really counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want to know where I typed this last bit?
> 
> At the place where I nearly killed myself in November of 2016.
> 
> It was the first time I'd been back there since, well, that day. It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. I don't know. I just think that's... not funny, but definitely something.
> 
> At one point in my life, I sat on those rocks and genuinely considered taking my life. And now, a year and some odd months later, it's better. It's not perfect. Of course it's not. But it's not hopeless anymore.
> 
> No matter who you are, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved.
> 
> Keep your head up, because you might see as hopelessly bleak situation now... but it won't stay that way forever.
> 
> Love always,  
> ~Phanwich ♡

**Author's Note:**

> I don't understand why so many of you decided to read this, but you did. I hope you enjoyed it, despite my month long delays as I tried very hard to avoid this.
> 
> "What about that other work you promised?"
> 
> Okay. You stuck out this long so you deserve an explanation.  
> A few of you commented that I didn't go into enough detail about the hospital. That's something I agree with. This was written at a point when I was still recovering from my own experiences and so I avoided things I thought could trigger me. When I typed it I did it exactly as it was originally written. I didn't want to compromise the original draft.
> 
> That's why I'm introducing Folie à Deux.
> 
> No, that's not a reference to the Fall Out Boy album, but rather to the psychiatric disorder.
> 
> Folie is going to be set in the hospital, entirely. It's going to be hard for me to write, and maybe hard for some of you to read, but it's something I need to do.  
> It's going to be long. It's going to be detailed.
> 
> Expect that in the future, but give me time. I have a lot of commitments right now. I promise I will share it with you, though.
> 
> ~Phanwich ♡


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